


A Scar; A Prize

by Stylish_Racoon



Category: Bleach
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stylish_Racoon/pseuds/Stylish_Racoon
Summary: Grimmjow wore that scar as his most prized possession.Pushing against the mattress, Ichigo leaned over and kissed it.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 157





	A Scar; A Prize

**Author's Note:**

> I found an old, old drabble. I had a bit much to drink. So I did a rewrite. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The moon beamed in the middle of the sky when he opened his eyes. Its company of stars paled around its light, giving the impression the midnight sky was nothing but a lake that mirrored itself or a dress with gleaming beads only on its end. Crickets hummed their songs near the open window, joining with the buzzing of night bugs and the silent whistle of the night because the night was always quiet, but never silent.

Ichigo was not sure which of them had woken him up, but he had not slept well in years. 

A chest heaved underneath his ear, but it sounded less like a breath and more like a feline purr, and maybe that was what brought him out of his peaceful slumber. It had been a while so the slightest move, the quietest sound was enough to jolt him awake. Ever since his mother died, Ichigo had never invited another person in his bed. He had only shared the bed with her and with the scent of her hair on his pillow long gone, but never forgotten, this intimacy was not something he was ready for. Not even during his loneliest times, not even when he was just a boy saving the world on his own. 

He had yet to save the world, as the world always needed to be saved. 

But this time there was another body pressed tightly against his. His skin looked paler than Ichigo remembered, transparent under the weak moonlight that trespassed the open window. It gave him a glow of the otherworld, maybe the underworld, because Hollows weren’t creatures that normally walked amongst the living. Ichigo pressed his ear in that chest. There was no heartbeat. His own heart beat faster just then, as if to make up for it.

It had been two years; two years since fate decided to rip them apart so cruelly. Grimmjow hadn't changed. Or at least, he didn't seem different to Ichigo. Memories lied under layers and layers of trauma, rotten by the spilled blood of his comrades, but when Ichigo saw Grimmjow step out of the Garganta, his hair still had the color of the spring sky and his eyes the azure of the ocean. 

He pressed a smile on the soft skin, shaking his head. Who was he kidding. His memories had nothing on him; Grimmjow was much more beautiful in real life.

With a sigh slipping past his lips, Ichigo traced a figure or two, or maybe three on Grimmjow’s chest. It had marks and bruises from their newer fights, scars from the old ones that were now patches of skin stitching to each other with tissue that was soft but not smooth. The largest one, it was Ichigo’s. It spread out in the middle of Grimmjow’s chest all the way to the Hollow hole on his belly. He still remembered that one Getsuga Tenshou, how it burnt leaving the blade of his sword; he could still recall his hollow’s voice in his head, how it cackled, how it made him cackle against his will — how the energy surge sounded as it ripped Grimmjow’s skin apart.

Grimmjow wore that scar as his most prized possession. Pushing against the mattress, Ichigo leaned over and kissed it. He kissed its entire length, from the middle of Grimmjow's chest, down to his belly. 

"What are you doing?"

Deep and rough, Grimmjow’s voice cracked the silence the way the Kido spells Ichigo sucked so bad at always did. When he looked up his breath caught into bleary sapphire blue, lungs cut at their sharp edges.  
  
“Did I wake you?” Ichigo asked. 

“Hollows don't sleep. Unless we’re fucking dead.”

Ichigo smiled, threw a leg over Grimmjow's body. A shudder shook him. Untouched for all his life, the sensation of skin sliding against skin could get overwhelming. He saw it then, the second largest scar. The scar that curled around his neck, an upside down guillotine, a half-moon, mirroring the shape of the sword of a long, long lost enemy that had once tried to kill Grimmjow. Ichigo hated that scar with all his might.

With his fingers suddenly trembling, he traced the corners. “Thought you were already dead?” he said.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. Clicked his tongue. “Smartass.”

Ichigo leaned in, captured that clicking tongue. Grimmjow was a spirit, but unlike the spirits Ichigo had exorcised or sliced into, he wasn’t cold; he was warm. His kiss, his touch, even his scent that traveled Ichigo all the way back to the sandy dunes of Hueco Mundo, the icy chill of his blue eyes, every breath coming out of his silent chest — everything about Grimmjow was warm.

“You never let Inoue heal the scar on your chest,” he whispered as they parted. 

Grimmjow rubbed his eye and frowned at him deeply. "What of it?”

“Why?”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want with my body, can’t I?” A press of lips. A pout, stubborn, reluctant, matching Grimmjow’s character. “‘Sides, I’ve already told you.”

"It's been two years. I don’t remember," Ichigo argued, rubbing their noses together. 

The Arrancar huffed an exasperated breath. "Because you did this to me," he said, "It reminds me I have to pay you back for it. It’s my reason to live.”

Weight sat on his chest, a chokehold around his throat. Ichigo quickly hid his face in Grimmjow’s neck, forcing himself to breathe normally. Grimmjow’s words were supposed to give him butterflies and chunks of fluff he would otherwise scoff at; his heart was supposed to beat faster, to flush his face with heat and not tears. 

He whispered because his voice couldn’t be trusted louder. “I’m your reason to live?” 

Strong arms wrapped around him and squeezed him tight, giving a reason not to breathe. Compared to the sobs rising from his chest, this was comforting. “Clueless, conceited idiot,” Grimmjow sighed. Hugged Ichigo tighter. “Don't be afraid.”

Fear. Grimmjow had spoken of the feeling coursing through Ichigo’s mind, leaving him numb and weak on its wake. Ichigo was afraid because the reality he had been living the past couple of years had been harsh; battle after battle after battle, same enemies, different enemies, it didn’t matter. It all came down to the fact that Ichigo was a Shinigami; Grimmjow was a Hollow. Natural enemies. Out for each other’s throat. Fighting for the same purpose was strange, but not inconceivable. But being in each other’s arms, however, was.

"I love you, Grimmjow," he choked around the tightness in his throat. It was the only undeniable, irrevocable truth in their reality. "No matter what, I love you." 

He knew that Grimmjow didn't want to hear that. He knew it had hurt him because of the hitch of his breath, of the fingers that dug in his skin hard enough to draw blood. But the words were way too heavy to be kept in his mouth forever. After all, for how much longer would they have the chance to be together? 

"I love you too," Grimmjow muttered.

Ichigo hated the sound of it. He soaked in it and let his tears soak the scarred skin on Grimmjow’s chest.

"I am not going anywhere,” Grimmjow said, and it was promise Ichigo could finally believe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading !!!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Stylish_Racoon)


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